


because you're the reason

by agetwellcard



Category: The Iliad - Homer, The Song of Achilles - Madeline Miller
Genre: Fluff, M/M, but that were never actually whole scenes, just a few cute moments that were mentioned in the book
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-09
Updated: 2016-05-09
Packaged: 2018-06-07 11:34:47
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,121
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6802045
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/agetwellcard/pseuds/agetwellcard
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>moments between achilles and patroclus.<br/>a morning. a broken arm. a lazy afternoon. happiness in troy.</p>
            </blockquote>





	because you're the reason

**Author's Note:**

> just finished the book and loved it, and i knew i had to write these moments. hopefully they're not ooc or anything. if there are any mistakes just let me know.

Dreams that once were filled with sharp rocks I had not seen and blood that poured out with no end were now turned to hazy daydreams. I could not control the thoughts while I slept, and I slumped the blame off to someone else when I dreamt of his hands, careful and precise as they touched as if worried they could cause injury. I told myself it was someone else’s doing that when I slept I dreamt of his golden, curly hair tickling my neck, lips meandering against the hollow of my throat.

It is only fitting that he be the one to wake me from them, whether making too much noise as he got ready for the day, or sung to himself, voice rising in volume as he got more and more into the song. I would wake up, eyes still closed, and listen to him, feign sleep for a few more minutes to hear his unattended life without me.

There was the morning, though, I woke to someone jumping on top of me playfully. There was no guessing game to who it could be, either. Achilles, the slight huff of a stifled laugh on his lips, straddled my body with his own warm one. I felt his strength, my mind groggy, trying for half a second to struggle away, but then realizing how futile the gesture was. He was too quick, always was, and woke me fully with his nose against mine, still breathily laughing as he told me, “Good morning.”

I peaked open my eyes to see had pulled back some, a wicked smile on his face as he looked down at me, golden hair falling around his face and spilling into his eyes. He seemed accomplished to see me awake. “Achilles,” I croaked, voice still hoarse from sleep.

I saw the happiness on his face when he heard his name like this. It was then that he went, “Patroclus,” in the same intonation I had used for his name just to tease me.

To this, I felt my lips curl, just a hint, and this made Achilles’s smile grow and then for him to jump off of me and round his bed. I sat up, the heat from his body on mine gone, along with what felt more like fever dreams of his body. Both floated away and I only felt cold.

I had realized that Achilles was pulling his hair up with a strip of leather and talking about their day. “After lessons, we should go out to the water. But I came up with an idea for a song so I will have to show you that to you, also.”

I nodded along, trying to tame my hair that had become wild from my sleep. As he kept talking, I listened with half an ear and distractedly kept my eyes following him as he walked around the room in preparation for the day. The way his jaw tightened when he glanced into the mirror, or the smile he gave me when he made a joke that only the two of us could understand. I admired him from afar and knew that I could only truly have him from afar, as well.

***

On Mount Pelion, we played as the boys in a life I wished we could have always had. For long hours, I was not the son of a king who had exiled me. I had not killed another boy. I was not a disgrace. Instead, I was young and full of joy as Achilles and I played and learned and lived together along with Chiron. For long hours, I imagined that we had always lived on the mountain together, and that our pasts were only a story told by Chiron, and that Achilles was never meant to be something he was not ready to become.

Even in harder moments, like when I fell into the ravine, I couldn’t find it in myself to curse the gods for bad luck.

I had been leaning over a ravine at the time, watching the stream of water one second, and then misstepping the next, letting out a sharp, surprised noise as I fell down. I shouted when the pain of the mistake had caught up to me, for my arm first, hot streaks of pain slashing at me with only the slightest of movements. Then for my knee, which I had saw had torn open, dark red blood oozing out of me.

Achilles and Chiron had not been far ahead of me, and heard my groaning as I clutched onto my arm. Achilles was always quicker, though, and had stooped into the ravine with such grace and swiftness that I almost felt embarrassed for how clumsy I had been. There was no time for embarrassment, though, not when I was stifling screams of pain as Achilles looked down at me with rounded, shocked eyes for only half a second before scooping me up and helping me out.

I clutched harder at my arm, willing it to stop moving, but it only gave myself more pain. I tried so hard to separate myself from the shooting pain, to think of Achilles grip he had on me, strong arms easily carrying me back to the cave as per Chiron’s instructions. The woods had melted into a passing blur as we sped to the cave, and I could just barely hear Achilles say, under his breath, “You are okay,” on a loop.

When we finally arrived, he carefully placed me down on our pallet, worried eyes scanning me over as Chiron calmly pulled out medical supplies and told us (more for Achilles’s ears since I had felt an unnerving loss of concentration because of the pain) about what to do in these kinds of situations.

As Chiron showed how to set my arm, moving it so I was no longer hugging it and it was away from my body, I clenched in pain, biting my lip, unconsciously trying to be stronger than what I was. Achilles kept a hand on my shoulder, and I focused on it as he watched, face strung up with worry. He flinched when I did, and I knew it wasn’t because it was as if he was imagining it was his own pain, since Achilles had never (and would never) know this kind of pain. He was too smart, too strong, for this kind of pain. Instead, I knew he only flinched for me, body tense with the worry he had for me.

They had set my arm and cleaned the gash on my knee in a blur, Achilles occasionally saying my name, as if to make sure I was still there. He still managed to say each syllable so clearly like the first time. _Pa-tro-clus_.

After this, I would always catch Achilles eyes on me during hunting trips or walks through the woods. Maybe this was when it began, when he realized I was his to protect. Or maybe it was inherent all along.

***

Falls turn to winters, and winters to springs as time passes in a flurry of emotions and experiences. Achilles and I would spend cold mornings in bed together before we had to get up for the day, bodies against each other under skins, legs twisted together and hands interlocked without a second thought. We’d excitedly jump around in the first snowfalls we’d ever seen in our lives, catching flakes in our hands and awing as they melted. We’d lie in the grass and let the glittering flakes snow down on us and collect on our clothes, glancing at each other with wide, matching smiles.

When spring came, we swam in the river, cold water chilling my bones when I first jumped in, Achilles splashing in after me. He sunk into the water, disappearing for seconds under the current, and then he grabbed at my ankle playfully until I too dove under. Eyes stinging from keeping them open, I followed Achilles against the current, his strong legs sending him further and faster than I could keep up. When he turned, though, to look at me before going up for air, he smiled, hair floating around his face with a hint of something magical in his eyes.

We came up for air, lungs burning, and Achilles shook his hair like a wild dog, raining me with the river’s water. I could see his curls already starting to form even if water droplets dripped down his face and off his eyelashes.

Eventually, we grew tired and waded to the side of the water, lying in the dirt and leaving our toes to be washed by the light current. Our bodies were angled towards each other, eyes lazily moving over each other before our hands followed. Achilles kissed me lightly, his lips still wet against mine, tasting of the wild berries we had eaten before throwing them at each other when we were full. We sat back, though, eyes gazing into the others.

“How long do you think we will be here?” I asked him quietly.

The question had been on my mind for weeks. I knew I had Achilles for an eternity, but I also knew that eventually we’d leave Mount Pelion and Achilles would become the hero and god he was always meant to be. I knew it couldn’t always just be us, like this, forever.

“Until I am ready,” Achilles answered easily, eyes floating up to the blue sky.

I swallowed. “Do you feel ready?”

Achilles eyes fell back down to earth, to my face and my eyes. He held my gaze for a moment before confidently saying, “No.”

Part of me hoped that he felt that he was not ready to give me up, and our time together up. I knew he was ready, and he knew that too. No one came calling for us, though, so we stayed, hoping to lounge on the banks of the river forever.

***

It was folly to think that we’d stay at Mount Pelion forever, though.

It was also folly for us to believe that nothing but tragedy would befall someone like Achilles.

War dragged us from those cold mornings and lazy afternoons back to Phthia. Then to Scyros. Then to the beaches of Troy. A prophecy for which we should have expected dragged us from an oblivious love that sang of no death and only happiness until the end of time.

For many years we stayed in Troy, though, and every morning I’d watch him go and then later on come back with blood on him. I could never fully understand it, but at night, I’d let him put his head on my lap and speak of it all since we always told each other everything.

I would play with his hair, twisting my fingers around the curls or smoothing it out, his forehead feeling hot against my palm. It was a contemplative voice that Achilles used when he spoke of his day, not skipping the gory parts or the sad parts. Just one word after word for hours until he fell into a deep slumber.

“Sometimes, I used to forget the prophecy,” he told me one night.

“What do you mean?” I hummed.

Achilles eyebrows stitched together and he stared off into the distance. “I was not sure if it was all true. If I would really be the best. I know now, though.”

I smiled dully. “You always knew,” I reminded him.

“Maybe,” he muttered, smiling up at me now. “You should come tomorrow.”

I made a face.

“You love to watch me fight,” he said, assured.

I stared at him.

“ _Patroclus_ ,” he said, slight whine to his voice. He wasn’t used to begging, and didn’t really need to for me to come along. He knew I would. I let him keep going, though. “It is always better with you there.”

“You think?” I ask, just to keep him going.

“I _know_.”

There’s no way I could ever say no. The prophecy hung over us still, ready to strike at any moment, despite the years it had granted us together. I knew the day would surely have to come, someway or another, no matter how much I told myself we could change it.

He told me once that he’d be the first hero that was happy. I had my doubts. But were we not happy? His head on my lap, kisses before departures, moments where we forgot completely of the war and only knew each other. He was not a hero quite yet, but at least we were happy.

“Then I will go with you,” I told him firmly, gripping his hand.

Unhappiness and death were to find us another day.


End file.
